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Drustan Cynbel An old abandoned road leads to a half-collapsed stone door, which leads into a narrow hallway into the the mountain. There's not a lot of light, but enough, and the lights and din of the forge both guide the path towards Drustan Cynbel, who has invited the foreign wisewoman to visit him and talk. He's currently working on forging a piece of pitch-black metal into a weapon on a forge fueled by the fires of the mountain itself, and he's humming a tune while he works. He looks to be in his element.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga is usually keen to travel, especially now that she has a horse to transport her with relative ease. She's quite grateful for Jodis, a kind gift from Sir Bedivere. Jodis is happy to wait outside, especially after Inga leaves a few apples for her to chew on.

The wisewoman heads inside, examining Drustan's home. A very interesting place. It looks like it is right out of a story. As a witch that lives in a wooded cottage, she can appreciate that.

The sound of the forge brings her back. She entertains both memories of home and the idea that's she's walking into the den of one of the dwarves of stories, forming the treasures of the gods.

Once she locates the man she assume to be Drustan, she waits in the doorway, waiting for him to finish his task. She seems content to watch him work the strange metal, curious what the substance is. She's never seen a metal so black.

The wisewoman is more or less dressed the part in a long, old-fashioned gown made of wool over a linen underdress, pinned at the shoulders by cleverly shaped silver pins. Myriad talismans hang from her belt and neck, mostly of bone and iron.
Drustan Cynbel Drustan is certainly short enough to be a dwarf, a bit shorter than Inga but not by much, though he lacks the girth commonly asssociated with them. His skin is the rough grey of rock and stone, and his features almost more like the chiseled edges of a statue than the natural features of regular men. When he finishes with one particular piece of work he dips the metal in a vat of oil, the flames of which treat the metal so it may better hold an edge.

It's that work that causes him to notice Inga, and he smiles and becons her to come over. "Oy lass, what are ye waitin' fer? I invited ye didn't I, so take a seat." He then pulls a lever to close the forge, and lights up a few torches to help give Inga more light, it's clear by his own action he hardly neets it. "Ah've not got much te offer, recon ye ain't fond o' our moldbread, an' me stocks o' bat meat've ran out, ah need te hunt more. Got mead an' ale, whichever picks yer fancy."
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga is a bit surprised by Drustan's appearance. It is rare indeed that she meets anyone shorter than she is in the multiverse, nevermind a man. She'd been expecting a human, but he is clearly not quite that. Though really, is she at this point either?

She'll take the offered seat. "I did not wish to interrupt. I was happy enough to watch you work...I am quite curious, what sort of metal is it that you forge? I have never seen it's like," she asks. As for the offer of a drink..."Mead would be delightful, and it so happens I brought a bit of food. Have you ever had a taco? Curious food...but delicious," she offers. Inga always has tacos. Something learned from her fellow Buzzing-chosen friends.
Drustan Cynbel "It's Adamant, a metal approaching elemental purity of Earth. One of the four great metals forged by the smiths of Firemountain, dug up from the deep veins far beneath the surface." A bottle of silver so pure it gleams even without light to reflect of it is pulled out of a cupboard, along with two stone mugs, and mead is poured. "I am exile from there, my people forge arms and armour so great that my own work pale in comparison to theirs. They also do not have tacos, I am willing to give them a try." He takes a sip from his mead.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga pulls a taco out of the pouch at her waist. It's wrapped in paper, and still hot. She passes one over. It smells spicy and delicious. The mead she takes gratefully, trying a sip. "Mmm. Very good," she says.

"Adamant. Interesting. It certainly is very unique in appearance. I assume it is also quite strong?" she asks. She wonders what magical properties it has, and if it would be any good in making talismans. Iron and bone is traditional, but Inga is willing to branch out.

"Firemountain, hmm? I have not heard of it. I do not think I have ever been to your world...tell me more of it. Why are you exiled?" she inquires. Nosy witch.
Drustan Cynbel "Allegedly I killed the previous chief of the Firemountain clan. They were quite fond of him." Drustan says in a tone that imples he doesn't care whether she believes that claim or not, he's fine either way. He takes a bite out of the taco. "Interesting. An unfamiliar taste for sure. I may have to get used to ti." He offers up, and then leans back. "Adamant is strong and resilient, but without losing flexibility. It's also potent for use as a focus for spells that seek to manipulate elemental earth and derivative materials, like magma or mud."
Inga Freyjasdottir Ings sips her mead, listening. She raised a brow at 'allegedly'. "I take it from your wording that you did not, indeed kill the previous chief. I suspect that it is complicated," she comments. These things usually are.

"Aah, I was wondering. I make talismans, I wonder how this material would work for such things. Might a puchase a bit?" she inquires. "I would only need a small quantity, formed perhaps into a simple shape."
Drustan Cynbel "I'm not in the habit of engaging with rumours." That's all Drustan has left to say about that, for the time being anyway. Something in his face shows that there's something about the topic that makes him less than eager to talk about it. He takes another bite out of his taco, and then clears his mouth with mead. "Sure you might, lass. Stuff ain't cheap, though."
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga isn't surprised by his unwillingness to talk about it. It is obviously a sore subject and she will not pry, nor will she peek at his wyrd on purpose. If visions come, so be it, but she respects his privacy.

"Ah well...could you write down a price for me? I shall bring it to those that handle my money. I'm terrible with it," she explains.

Inga looks around again. "You live here? Alone?" she inquires.
Drustan Cynbel "Sure, I will, and eye I do. What of it?" And as he starts to write down a price in neat educated letters, the weight of destiny intrudes. A vision of a different time, the same man though younger and less harsh in his features, clad in armour made out what appears to be gold, riding a horse at the front an army of men and women like him, banners waving as they approach a foreboding castle seemingly built out of Adamant.

He turns around and addresses these soldiers, "My people. Long have we suffered the yoke of darkness. My father, may the Light have mercy upon his soul, has laboured hard to try to appease him. And for what? Our sons and daughters are made serve in the Dark Lords armies, dying for his evil cause. Our forges churn out weapons to aid his evil cause. Our mines provide priceless metals to aid his evil cause. And what does he give us?"

The army shouts angrily, "Pain and suffering!" He nods gravely, "Aye, and after tonight my people, he will no longer. The Archon's men march from the west, and we march the east. Today we will write history, today we will cast down this villain. For the Light! For our future!"
Inga Freyjasdottir "Mmm, nothing of it. I prefer a bit of privacy myself. I don't like to live too close to a lot of people. Very inconvenient for me," she replies. "It's a nice place, honestly. I rather like it."

Though she tried to avoid it, tried to keep her grip on her Sight in check, a thread of the wyrd reaches out and takes hold, yanking her into a vision.

A vision of a warrior in gleaming armor, giving a stirring speach to his forces.

Inga goes stiff, the pupils of her eyes expanding rapidly to take over the irises as she rides the wave of vision. As if she were in that crowd, roaring with them. She could smell the air, feel the fright and the righteous anger.

Its a few moments before she is back in the here and now, shaking her head, closing her eyes, trying to reorient herself. "...I have seen you in your golden armor riding toward the adamant castle. Who is the Dark Lord?" she asks quietly, her eyes still closed.

The hands that reach for her mead are trembling slightly.
Drustan Cynbel After the surprise, Drustan recovers relatively quickly. "Long dead. That was over a hundred years ago." Drustan says in a very soft tone, "A powerful sorcerer who had mastery over Dark beyond any that live, who plunged this world into Dark to grow his power." He takes a sip, "And the man in golden armour you saw is Drust Firemountain, chief of the Firemountain clan, Hero of Light. A fool."
Inga Freyjasdottir "I see," Inga replies. She doesn't want to make it any more uncomfortable for him than it already is.

"So you are long lived, then. What do you call your race? You are not human I see," she adds.